


sacrifice - my joy luck club moment.

by goddammitshauna



Series: 3am thoughts and 3pm regrets. [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: shauna writes something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 23:43:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17334596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitshauna/pseuds/goddammitshauna
Summary: a short story written after a family lunch.





	sacrifice - my joy luck club moment.

a mini bus driven by my uncle, ferrying 13 out of 24 relatives across the stretching causeway.  
cruising in abrupt stops, weaving and ducking, it rumbles and rolls across the 1km road, in a record time of an hour and a half. 

dad's 8 seater Toyota trails behind, a whole half hour time difference visible as we don't even see the tiny bus anymore.  
the smallest, squirmiest kid shoved into the last row, thanks bro.  
on the right, a sulking younger sister, on the left my reserved throne, imprint and everything.  
topping everything off with the wafting scent of fast food dad left to buy at 11am and returned at 11:30, and we're good to go.

“i don't want to go to JB” the voice from the right whines.  
“stop causing trouble” mom's fed-up  
“why can't I just stay home myself”  
“you're too young”  
she flings herself back onto the seat.  
one of many ordeals barely audible over the soundtrack flowing into my ears.

“we're going to have a nice lunch with family, in a restaurant booked by 大舅舅, just appreciate family time.” the words fell out of my mouth this time, equally as fed up as mom.  
the veil of silence was placed upon us again, the radio waves transferring crappy pop music clashing with the winds and brasses in my phone. 

we made it, an hour later.  
everyone had more or less demolished the banquet spread out, classic chinese turntable style.  
service was slow, but so was the eating.  
the heaping platter of fried rice, chicken soup topped with herbs and wolfberries and a sampling of Peking duck from the other table long wiped clean as small talk drifted in and out of our private room. 

speaking to my 大姨 and second aunt, the gripped my hands tight, the same hands that picked me up from the marbled floors as a kid, the softness in their hands replaced by dead skin and calluses.  
shivering a little, taking the seat under the aircon instead of my sister, I gratefully accepted the warmth of my aunties’ hands, as my second auntie ran her hand down the length of my arm.  
“to get your blood circulating”  
I numbly nodded, tuning into the latest conversation of my cousin enrolling as an army commander, one of the many prides in our family. 

my mom joined the warm-shauna-up group, as my 大姨 remarked  
“look at your hands, so soft so smooth”  
“must treasure, our hands are all worn and old” second auntie chimed in  
“from all the housework lah, endless cooking cleaning-”  
“you must help out your mom okay?” 大姨 cut mom off. 

I nodded again, fully tuned into the conversation unraveling. 

“aiya we're all old, even at immigration have to keep scanning our thumbs, because no more thumbprint!” mom joked with her sisters, as they laughed together before quickly switching gears to a new recipe, all while 大姨 clasped my hands in hers, transferring her warmth. 

I look at these hands again, these youthful and soft hands.  
peeling skin and a lump on my third finger for gripping pencils, then pens too hard.  
working laboriously on writing pages upon pages of essays in an air-conditioned hall.  
silently wondering what wondrous creams or ointments I would have to use to revert my hands back to their prime. 

I look at my mother's hands, her “old” and “wrinkled” hands.  
I see them skillfully chopping vegetables to prepare her signature soup.  
I see them wring out clothes and scrub down areas of the house even I wouldn't touch.  
I look on as she uses her nails to pick at the same spot on her lip.  
her hands look as smooth and as youthful as mine.  
yet at immigration she's held up while I wait with my siblings on the other side. 

mom likes to talk to me while she's doing chores.  
“your 阿妈 is getting old, when she came to take care of me in March, she couldn't see where she was pouring her coffee powder into.”  
she sighs as she folds up the last of the pyjamas while I work on some chemistry questions.  
“she used to be very strong, very powerful looking after 6 kids and cooking for all of them”  
“she's 80 now, next time I'll be like that too”

and for the slightest second, I feel scared.  
that my mother, the same young and spunky mother, will one day grow hunched under the burden of caring for 3 kids.  
her face already contorting in wrinkles will be permanently tattooed in the stress of her youth.  
that the inevitable will come, and I will hold more regrets that I thought I did. 

as I watch her pick herself up from the floor. gathering the folded laundry and stowing the ironing board away. a nagging voice in my brain scolds me for failing to do my chores, in light of my exams but as of now,I can only promise myself, to cherish her now and for the rest of her days. 

“mom next time when I get rich and successful, I'll send my money to you, only you, dad doesn't get any okay?”  
“okay, I'll be waiting”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations of Chinese characters:
> 
> 大舅舅 - dà jìu jìu (mother's eldest brother)   
> 大姨 - dà yí (mother's eldest sister)  
> 阿妈 - ah mah (maternal grandmother)


End file.
